Part 3
My mother married six months after my father’s death. Amidst all kinds of queries, rumours and scandalous talk, my present stepfather took my mother down the aisle of the small village church.
This was not the first time that I had encountered such
torment from my father’s assassin. On his occasional visits to our home, he
would take time off to remind me that he could eliminate me any time he felt
like it. There was also a time when I had met him in the woods on one of my
bird ventures. He never lost an opportunity to remind me of what he would do to
me if ever he learnt that I had betrayed him. It seemed to me however, that
whether I betrayed him or not, he would end my life anyhow.
I should have told the police or maybe even my mother.
At least they might have extended some measure of security to me, especially
when my mother was working the night shift. I mentally decided that if I ever lived to
see the dawn, I would go straight to the police with what I knew. For the time
being, however, I would simply telephone them and tell them that someone seemed to be prowling around the house.
I took up the receiver. “Hello, Luke’s residence. Can I
help you?” There was heavy breathing on the other side. When I heard the voice,
I was not entirely surprised. It said in a muffled tone, as if the mouthpiece
was covered with a handkerchief, “I know you are alone and your mother has gone
to work. I am not around the house any longer, neither am I far away. Thanks to
the phone company’s thoughtfulness for installing a phone booth here. I thought
I would give you a friendly warning. After tonight’s act, you are probably very
afraid. If you do anything foolish, like calling the Police, they won’t believe you anyway. Remember, I
won’t be far away. I’ll see them before you do and I’ll get you before they get
me.” I believed him and I knew he meant every word.
I was very afraid. “What kind of man was he? It seems as though
if he could read my very thoughts and feelings,” I surmised. It was a fairly
warm night, yet I shuddered. A cold, almost death-like feeling came over me.
“Would this night never end?” I asked myself.
It was not the first time my mother had called home at
such an hour. She knew that there were times when I could just lie awake and
stare at the ceiling. Once she had taken me to the doctor who had said that I
had a moderate case of insomnia. He had prescribed some sleeping pills. I had
long stopped taking them since I was not sure I wanted to sleep. You see, each
time I slept, I had such horrible dreams that I preferred to stay awake for as
long as I could. Maybe this was not so bad after all. I did so much reading
that I was top student in all of my forms.
I hesitated before answering my mum. I wondered if it was not the best thing to
tell her what had happened that night. I
believe I would have told her if I had not received that call from my father’s
assassin. I finally blurted out, “Everything
is all right, Mum. I was just here
reading one of my school books.”
“Are you sure?” She asked.
“I’m sure, ” I
lied.
With a “See you at 6:30 a.m.,” she put down the
receiver. There was a long click at the
other end or so it seemed to me. “Was
that click the signal that my last hope had gone?” My mum had said, “See you at
6:30 a.m. Would I see her when she sees
me, or would I be in the morgue?”
I put down the telephone receiver and went thoughtfully
to my room. It was shrouded in darkness
and I thought it best not to switch on the light. If he were back out there it
was best not to let him know that I had left the living room. I lay across the bed with my feet dangling
over the side and I thought. There was
really nothing else to do.
Stewart Russell © 1979
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